Flames and sobriquets
by MockingjayWithFangs
Summary: AU. She is a survivor from District twelve, he is a Capitol citizen. He is broken, so is she. Maybe they understand each other better than they think.
1. Sweet Victory?

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute."

That familiar frantic scream echoed in Katniss' mind. It was absurd how a single, minuscule slip of paper had affected her life so drastically. She was always going to be the shell of her former self thanks to such a small thing.

Katniss set her silver gaze on the vivid, powder blue tresses of Caesar Flickerman. An affable and soothing smile was drawn across his had accommodated herself in a stylish, ivory chair as she stoically waited for inquires to be made and utterances to get stuck in her throat. She felt like a terrorised and trapped deer, just like she had in the previous round of interviews. But back then she had been with twenty-three others. Now she was completely alone.

Her sylphlike body was garbed in a vivid, orange satin dress that embraced her curves and hugged her dainty waist. Once again Cinna had excelled with his superb designs. The selection of a vivid shade of orange rather than a muted one was a reminder to all of Panem that the Games had not extinguished her flames.

"How are you feeling, Katniss?"

Caesar had decided to commence her victor interview with a standard base question, but the crowd of Capitol citizens covered in bizarre, vividly coloured make-up and wearing clothes that were as equally bizarre and gaudy (in Katniss' opinion) did not appear to be vexed. Instead they observed Katniss as she pondered her response.

"Relieved. Truly relieved, Caesar."

The ghost of a smile formed on the petals of her lips. Her response was genuine, and she felt extremely relieved that she would embrace Prim once again. She would be capable of fixing her relationship with her mother and be able to escape to the forest with her beloved and sole friend, Gale. She felt extremely relieved and joyous that, thanks to her survival, everyone in District Twelve would be well-fed for an entire year.

Her response caused the crowd and Caesar to emit a variety of laughter that went from timid, high-pitched giggles to low and sonorous chuckles. A unique set of sapphire-blue eyes projected a menacing coldness as its owner examined Katniss, though not in a lascivious manner. Instead he was trying to comprehend her just like he was trying to fathom why he was there. In contrast to the rest of the Capitol citizens, Cato was not fond of the Hunger Games. He believed that the annual slaughter of twenty-three innocent children as revenge for the acts of their ancestors was barbaric. Cheering for it was deplorable.

That was the sole motive as to why he would lock himself in the gym—or rather the training centre as his father called it—that his grandfather had constructed when Cato was just an innocent eight-year-old boy. In Cato's mind, slashing dummies created from rubber and thereby incapable of feeling pain was better than cheering for the death of innocent children who were strangers to the world. That is what he would do for several hours until his clothes were drenched with sweat and salty droplets embellished his forehead, reflecting the first rays of the day and making them appear to be jewels. The imagery granted him the appearance of a puissant deity from an ancient culture. Cato would carry out this routine every morning in order to render himself capable of handling the idiocy and shallowness that surrounded him in his home city, the Capitol of Panem.

Katniss' first response revealed to Cato that she was still the ignited archer that he deeply admired for mustering the courage that the outlying districts usually lacked in order to volunteer. She had not desired to participate in the Games but had wanted to prevent her delicate sister from dying as a result of a despotic vendetta.

She had gained popularity and the sobriquet of "girl on fire" after the tribute's parade when she had dressed as an ignited piece of coal. Cato had gained his own label of "brutal" due to his towering frame which was covered in enormous muscles defined by the hours he spent consumed with knife-throwing and exercises involving machetes.

Katniss caressed the ebony cascade of extensive tresses that fanned down her back, out of her trademark braid, with nimble digits. She was aware that she appeared rather unforthcoming, but she was not going to feign being an extremely amiable person who constantly smiled. Katniss did not desire the sympathy of the Capitol citizens and would most certainly not sculpt her personality so it met their standards to gain their approval.

The Games had changed her and it killed her that she would never be capable of fulfilling her promise to Prim. The girl that had originally volunteered had vanished and died the second her sturdy boots had stepped onto the soil of the arena.

"When you volunteered to replace your sister at the Reaping, did you believe you could win?"

Caesar raised an eyebrow in a quizzical gesture. His lips remained tugged into a fond smile.

"No."

Katniss could almost hear Haymitch groaning and spitting out blasphemes at her deadpan and extremely un-victor-like response, "advising" for her to elaborate while Effie emitted ear-damaging, high-pitched squeals followed by reminders to Haymitch about his dreadful manners and how he should correct them. The svelte and agile hunter swallowed audibly before commencing with a more detailed answer.

"At the beginning, right after I volunteered, I was certain I would never see Prim or District Twelve ever again. But my sister made me promise that I wouldn't give up and I'd return. It made me realize that I couldn't go down without a fight. My determination to get back to Prim made me think twice about my actions. I had be certain that I wouldn't die."

Silence invaded the studio for an entire minute before the audience began to wildly cheer and weep at the touching story of motivation, willpower, and the conquering of fear in order to achieve her goal. Katniss' eyes fluttered from one side of the room to another and managed to land on Cato.

For several seconds the fire in her eyes encountered the ice in his. He was the only Capitol citizen aside from Cinna that looked…normal. That was the word. He did not look grotesque or repulsive. Rather, he looked extremely attractive. His tresses were not altered by any extravagant and abnormal shade. They had an appealing golden tone and his eyelashes, which framed captivating ice blue eyes, were the same colour and incredibly extensive.

Katniss mentally compared his towering and muscled body to that of a Career. The moment she shifted her stormy grey eyes to the unnecessarily fancy and colossal screen, something inside her murmured unhurriedly but demandingly that looks were highly deceiving, especially from the man with the ice cold eyes.

The three hour obligatory recap felt like an eternity to Katniss whose sole desire was to be embraced again by the safety of her beloved forest as she hunted squirrels, and not humans, with Gale. The recap also seemed never-ending to Cato. Every second that elapsed made his fury and vexation increase until he began contemplating the idea of murdering Coriolanus Snow with a machete or his bare hands. Then he could cease this pointless slaughter of the innocent.

The video depicted in a matter of hours the torturous truth of Panem. Innocence left this world through the blood of blameless children staining the hands of other children that have been forced to mature and decide how much a human life was worth. For some tributes their sole motive was to kill others and glorify their district with rich and praised murders.

Katniss' back was completely straight. She held her head high, granting her a defying and powerful aura. Her eyes remained on the screen at all times, but Cato was observant and managed to perceive details that most would not have considered. It allowed him to see past her stoic facial expression and aggressive and defying stance. Katniss would sink her nails into the ivory-coloured chair or her jaw would tighten ever so slightly when someone she either cared about or owed, like Thresh, died. Tears threatened to make an appearance when Rue's death was played.

Not now, she thought to herself. You can't be weak. You can't cry. Not in front of them. You can later with Haymitch.

An authentic, relieved smile embellished her make-up free lips when the anthem of Panem began playing, announcing the end of a torture that would surly provoke infinite and disturbingly vivid nightmares for Katniss later. The following evening when the sky would begin to acquire pallid orange, lavender, and pink tones, she would be crowned the 74th annual Hunger Games victor and be free to return to District Twelve with Prim, Gale, and Peeta, the boy with the bread. The boy who had once saved her life. The boy who was foolish enough to muster the courage to tell her that he had been madly in love with her since he was five, years after only minutes elapsed after her volunteering to an almost certain death.

Utilising her innate grace as a hunter, Katniss rose to her feet and said her goodbyes to Caesar before fleeing down the impeccable and eerily clean corridors of marble floors and high-arched ceilings. She finally reached her destination, a jet-black wooden door with a silver number twelve written in a fancy and rather ancient-looking style. The gelid doorknob was unfamiliar to her touch. She was accustomed to the scorching August sun in the forest, not to this extreme frigidness that seemed to reign over the Capitol. She loathed the coldness just as much as she loathed the Capitol's exorbitant idiocy.

Haymitch stood in the centre of the room, balancing a glass filled to the brim with a translucent, sepia liquor in his right hand. He extended his arms with extreme grace compared to his usually uncoordinated actions that she was accustomed to witnessing. Katniss was about to accept his soothing and almost parental embrace when she caught a glimpse of gold and baby blue. She quickly recognised the other individual.

Katniss pursed her lips together in rage. She had gained her fame by having a short fuse, but in that exact moment rage was overpowered by another feeling that hurt Katniss even more, betrayal. Why on earth would Haymitch allow a Capitol citizen—the enemy, the one that starved them and forced them to murder each other—in there?

"Why is he here, Haymitch?"

One of her fingers pointed at the boy for a second. The level of her voice was normal, even a little low, but she did not need to scream or hurl insults to express her sheer rage.

Cato and Haymitch had become quite close. Each began considering the other a friend about five years ago. Cato wished to congratulate Katniss for being merciful and sparing her life for her sister, and for not judging Marcus and ending his misery almost immediately. He wanted to congratulate her for not being a mere pawn in the Games.

"Why can't he be here, sweetheart?"

Haymitch's voice was defensive. Some might even have considered it teasing. He lifted an eyebrow in an inquisitive fashion as he awaited her answer.

"He's a Capitol citizen. Don't you hate them? They're the ones that starve us and cheer for twenty-three children's deaths. Haymitch, it's because of them that you drown yourself with alcohol and sleep with a knife."

Her response was uttered in a calm voice that wasn't her innately angelic and mellifluous one. No, this one may have been calm but it somehow managed to express the abhorrence she had aimed at the Capitol, at Coriolanus Snow, and at Cato.

"I don't cheer for the death of twenty-four innocent children, Katniss."

Katniss' and Cato's glances met once again. Her silver oculars were skeptical, and his lacked the emotions he had forbidden himself to experience ever since his innocence had been callously robbed from him.

Cato's voice was low, extremely low even for a man. That type of voice was only acquired by screaming and weeping until you had completely lost it for several days at a time.

"Twenty-four? I think you've miscounted."

Katniss' voice was also low for a woman. She had also cried and screamed for days. She'd thought it would never return after her father's passing.

"Katniss, you paid with your soul."

And as much as Katniss loathe to admit it, those six words held absolute truth. She would always be haunted by the demons of the arena.

**I am rather nervous since this the first fic I ever write. Despite the fact the storyline WILL have some AU features the characters will not be OOC. The length of this story will depend on the reaction this first chapter gets.**

**Peeta was never reaped, so Katniss never used the berries to defy the Capitol and save Peeta and herself, therefore she never became the Mockingjay but she did win the 74th annual hunger games. Cato he is a Capitol citizen, not very fond of the games, (Cato fans, do not worry I will make his personality as similar as the one of the book and movie as I possibly can.)**

**I don't own the hunger games, if I did Cato and Katniss would have ended together and (SPOILER) Finnick wouldn't have died.**

**What did you think of the first chapter of Flames and Sobriquets? Reviews would be lovely, I offer you all my most humble apologise for any grammatical or spelling errors since I am not an English native speaker. Don't forget to answer my poll and don't be shy to ask me anything or make any suggestions. :)**


	2. Robbed innocence

Cato was a contrast to the vast majority of the Capitol men, not just due to the fact that he did not wear make-up or had undergone chemical alterations. The second he uttered, "Katniss, you paid with your soul," he scrutinised her silver eyes. The flames of defiance and stubbornness that revealed that she was destined for great things and would never be a pawn in anyone's psychotic games were still there. They had been there ever since she became the hunter who knew she would never see food again unless she acquired it herself. The flames were obvious even to the morons that inhabited the Capitol.

However, the flames also girded and concealed something else, fear. Absolute fear is not an irrational fear fueled by diluted pride or willpower. Nor is it fueled by insecurities and paranoia. Katniss' eyes revealed her terror that she would never be capable of grasping the ghost of the former self she currently was. The arena and its eternal and volatile horrors had cruelly stolen her innocence, unsparingly murdering a part of her. She was doomed to never be the same person as the girl that had initially volunteered.

Cato was capable of discerning that fear just like Haymitch because his purity had also been heartlessly taken.

-The day after the end of the 64th annual Hunger Games-

A joyous smile embellished Cato's cherubic features as he sauntered through the field of emerald grass and lush, crisp vegetation located in front of his family's unnecessarily colossal house. The field had been strategically placed just so that Cato could frolic under the scorching summer sun.

Joy tugged at the sides of his mouth as it expanded into an exuberant smile.

During these times, his father used to narrate several myths and tales of helpless princesses that possessed otherworldly beauty and the attractive and affluent princes that utilised their wit and courage to always rescue the princess who would then become their one true love.

His mother, who had a willowy frame and cascading golden tresses, might sing to him in dulcet, high-pitched notes until all his childish preoccupations, such as bickering with his only friend or being incapable of finding his favourite toy, finally evaporated and he was left soothed and joyous once more.

However, the view that awaited his arrival differed greatly from the soothing one he was normally accustomed to.

An ominous silence engulfed the house and claimed it as its property. Cato's pupils dilated until his irises appeared to be an obscure shade of blue. The scene before him made him experience the urge to scream at length until his voice abandoned him and run until his legs refused. He quickly discovered that his voice would not appear when he parted his lips and his feet remained in their position as if glued to it despite his several attempts to run and call for help.

His adored and cherished parents were both situated on a flawless, ivory sofa. Their limbs were restricted of movement by a polychromatic cord secured by several convoluted knots. His sapphire eyes met the lavender—thanks to the contacts so she could match the tips of her golden tresses, which eclipsed the vast majority of her features—gaze of his mother. Her eyes revealed unspoken words and emotions.

"Run! Save yourself!" Her eyes pleaded. For the first time in his eight years of being in this frivolous world, he saw his mother frantic and expressing fear rather than being phlegmatic.

Abruptly a petite and slender man with multi-coloured hair falling to his narrow shoulders came into view. An extreme and intense pink claimed the top of his head to the top of his ears. An evidently artificial yellow that had subtle orange hints then covered the section from the top of his ears to the bottom of his lobes. The rest was coloured a midnight blue that fooled the human eye into believing it was a light shade of black instead. The man's eye colour morphed from a blood-curdling, vivid scarlet to an undefinable shade of blue that blended with the white of his eerily large eyes.

"Fabulous. Now the show may commence."

His voice was airy and high pitched, very much like a woman's voice. It managed to successfully conceal how dangerous he was in reality. His utterance was laced with such joy that Cato's blood solidified in his veins and an icy shiver bolted through his spine in a skyward direction.

"Take a seat, my dear."

Despite the congenial attempt of a smile that garbed the man's grotesque and abnormally wide lips, which also failed in making him desirable, his feminine voice spoke in commanding and unforgiving tones.

Cato stood in his original position, attempting to muster the courage to regain his voice. His stance was highly defiant and rebellious. He was only eight years old. He should not have to witness this. His childish innocence should not be so callously taken from him. It was unfair, but so is the world we inhabit. Unfair and psychotic.

Cato witnessed as rage and vexation grew within the man due to his own refusal to appease him. The man's eye colour rapidly changed to an eerie green that began as a soothing, pallid shade that morphed until it acquired an exorbitantly brilliant hue. In the blink of an eye, the slender hand of the eerie and presumably deranged man collided with Cato's cheek.

Cato was capable of counting the pulsations of his throbbing face from the large force of the man's impact. He was certain that one of his bones had snapped like a twig or had at least fractured. The man's fingers gripped the golden threads that composed Cato's hair and elevated him off the floor. Cato shut his sapphire eyes in an attempt to reduce the excruciating pain from being struck and then lifted off the ground. He was gently deposited on a wooden chair that was extremely familiar to him. It was the chair he would settle himself in whenever his father would tell tales.

"Open your eyes."

The high-pitched and revoltingly sweet and joyous-sounding words danced swiftly to his ear. He reluctantly obeyed the order. He did not desire to infuriate the man once more and gain another physical injury. If only he had known that physical injuries heal but psychological ones do not. But how could he? He was an innocent eight-year-old boy whose wholesomeness was slowly being leeched away.

The man selected with extreme care the perfect knife from an enormous array. It was of a medium size with a relatively slim and curved blade. His stomach-twisting smile expanded until it reached nature's limits as he approached Cato's unflappable and adored mother.

"We are going to have so much fun. Where should I start? I think with your hair. I will make a fabulous wig out of it so do not worry."

He did not grant Cato's mother the opportunity to respond. With a rapid movement he trimmed her hair up to her ear, creating a shallow and extensive wound on her scalp. His mother emitted a frantic yelp of pain as blood began to leave a red path down the nape of her neck. Cato's dad squeezed his mom's hand in a soothing and comforting manner that gained him an infuriated glare from the man. In the intruder's twisted and clearly insane mind, he decided that the father's actions had to be punished by chopping his fingers with several torturous, shallow cuts. It caused Cato's father to emit heart-shattering screams and cries that continued to echo through Cato's skull long afterward, haunting him forever.

Cato attempted to remove his gaze from the horrifying and surreal scene, but he always failed. His body refused to carry out the action. The ivory sofa gradually acquired a red tint that became scarlet crimson as the nameless psychopath continued to wound and slash his parents.

The man's knife sank into the cheek of Cato's mother, creating a gash that began at her tear duct and ceased at her jaw. The delicate pale flesh was rapidly coated with the scarlet substance her existence relied upon. The blood covering the eyelashes of her left eye, especially the lower lids, gave her the impression of crying sanguinolent tears.

His father's lips were slowly removed from his face. The man claimed that he would no longer require them to kiss Cato's mother.

Cato covered his ears with his hands but his short, childish digits were not sufficient to block out the agonising yelps and screams of his parents and their cries for mercy. His parents' misery came to an end when the psychotic murderer, who had emitted feminine giggles throughout the entirety of the torture, decapitated them both and positioned their heads on the window so they gave the impression of kissing each other.

"What about me?" Cato inquired in a reluctant fashion. He was still too appalled by what he had just witnessed and by the loss of both his parents and his childhood.

"You can survive."

"Why?"

Cato was furious. He wanted to be embraced by death and reunite with his parents to be freed from his torment. The tears he had managed to conceal thus far were on the verge of making an appearance very soon.

"You deserve it."

Without further explanation or verbal exchange, the man who had destroyed him and forced his world to collapse disappeared, blending in with the darkness and leaving Cato just like he had forced his parents to do so to him.

An entire day of numbness, disbelief, and silence elapsed. Colours seemed to have forfeited their intensity as if also mourning over the loss of innocence and life. For two parents and their eight-year-old son whose soul had been shattered and would always remain unable to be his former self. The price of the boy's survival was his own parent's death and his soul.

Day became night and the night became day. The only actions Cato was capable of executing were crying and screaming until he lost his voice like he lost his beloved father who never made a mistake and his cherished mother who possessed a voice even angels envied. His unimportant preoccupations had been replaced by the preoccupation of him ever being capable of sleeping again. Would he be forever haunted by his parents' screams and beseeches? Would he ever be normal again?

He cried until his eyes were incapable of producing any more tears and he feared he might die of dehydration. He cried for as many hours as the day had. He cried for every motive that crossed his mind. No, he would never be normal again because he had witnessed things that would haunt any branch of mankind and even drive them to insanity.

Maybe that is what occurred to the man who had provoked all this misery and suffering. But Cato no longer cared because the second he lost his childish innocence he had lost the capacity of feeling. He would never allow himself to feel again because in the emotional numbness there was no space for excruciating pain.


	3. Roses

Katniss found the rapid and constantly changing scenery to be a soothing reminder that her wait to return home was finally coming to an end. Delicate, silvery rays of moonlight illuminated her room as the train attempted to rock her to a peaceful slumber. These attempts failed miserably. Katniss was too mesmerised by the wheat plants of District Eleven that so willingly followed the wind in a graceful dance.

She desired to be once again covered by the thin veil of coal dust from the Seam and to crawl under the sad attempt of a terrifying fence that District Twelve possessed as their sole means of keeping flesh eaters out and citizens in. Katniss was even looking forward to seeing the hideous cat Buttercup that her sister adored.

A genuine smile adorned Katniss' face. Perhaps her demons would stay at the Capitol. She was not Haymitch so she would not drink herself to numbness. She was a hunter. She had murdered more squirrels than she was capable of counting, and they had never disturbed her dreams. If she could just disregard the fact that the other tributes in the arena also had their own families to return home to, then she could liken them to the squirrels she and Gale used to hunt.

The morning arrived far too quickly for Katniss' liking and again reality imposed itself too soon. Katniss realised what a fool she had been the previous night to believe that the arena would ever cease haunting her. What had occurred in the Games would never feel like hunting in the safety of the familiar forests that surrounded District Twelve.

Despite the fact that both instances were fuelled by survival, one fed several people (such as all of Greasy Sae's customers and the vast majority of Peacekeepers) whereas the other resulted in the death of twenty-three others who, just like her, only desired to return home to those held dear to their hearts.

She rose to her feet and prepared to confront the new day. She rapidly combed and braided her ebony hair before changing into a simple outfit that consisted of a dark green shirt and form-flattering, sepia trousers. She was not required to be dressed with lavish gowns until the victory tour.

The victory tour was strategically placed between one game and the next to ensure that the torture of the districts would never cease. Katniss' stomach produced a sonorous demand for food and she decided it was time to join Effie and Haymitch for breakfast.

The scene that was presented to her in the dining cart was eerie. Haymitch was smiling but it was not his trademark mocking and sarcastic smile. It was a rather affable one. Katniss had been uncertain as to whether the ghosts of his own personal hell—the arena of the second Quarter Quell—would ever allow him to carry out such a basic and human action again.

Haymitch and Katniss had formed a strong bond in the arena as they would communicate through the sponsoring of gifts or lack thereof. They understood each other and Katniss would attempt to help Haymitch face his demons by staying by his side and not giving up on him, just like he did for her in the arena.

It was blatantly obvious that Katniss was starving. She stared with longing eyes at the delectable array of food and began to sink her teeth into her lower lip as she pondered which luxury she should consume first. Haymitch snapped her out of the spell that such exorbitant amounts of food after several weeks of starvation had cast upon her. He abruptly cleared his throat.

"Katniss, that will be your breakfast."

He pointed to a three-quarters filled cup of hot chocolate and one Capitol bread roll. He rapidly raised a hand to hush her protests before she could even begin to formulate them.

"Your stomach shrank in the arena. You have to eat smaller portions until you're used to being fed once again, sweetheart."

Katniss swallowed her complaints and raised the cup to her mouth, forcing the thick and warm substance to trickle down her throat. She attempted to savour it as much as she possibly could, considering it was the first meal of an anxiously awaited day.

"We've arrived at District Twelve. Katniss, you'll see your family again soon!"

Effie Trinket exclaimed with fictitious joy. It was blatantly obvious that she did not wish to return to what she considered to be a poverty-stricken and begrimed attempt of a district that was inhabited by savages, even if it was only for a handful of hours. However, it was her duty as an escort to ensure her victor returned home safely. Not carrying out one's duties properly was considered bad manners, and manners were the only thing Effie truly cared about.

Joy embellished Katniss' features as she absorbed the familiar scenery. To her right stood the forest of sturdy pines where she and Gale would compete with the flesh eaters for succulent prey such as squirrels, rabbits, or the extremely illustrious and rare deer. The last thing she caught a glimpse of before the train entered a tunnel and came to a halt was the town square. Ornamental banners of vivid shades hung from the balconies, granting the square the festive atmosphere it normally possessed on the day of the Reaping.

The difference now was that it celebrated the survival of one citizen. Usually the Reaping signalled the forced celebration of one and most likely two children's certain deaths.

Today men and women with hunched shoulders they had gained from hours in the claustrophobic mine, knuckles overworked and feeble nails encrusted in coal dust, would enjoy a day free from the mines and its horrors so they could welcome their victor.

As the doors opened a wave of relief washed over Katniss, and she found herself doing something she had not done for years. She smiled outside of the woods.

Katniss sprinted to Prim and her mother. She was eager to embrace them once again because she needed them as much as they needed her. She needed them to still have hope in humanity and believe that virtue still existed in the callous world they inhabited. They needed her to eat and to have someone strong enough to lift the three of them when they needed it.

Prim wrapped her skinny arms around Katniss' dainty waist. By the force of the embrace Katniss realised that Prim was attempting to confirm that what was happening was real and not a dream.

"Prim, it's true. I'm back. I won't leave you again."

Katniss' voice was soothing as she murmured into her sister's ear. Katniss held Prim for almost five minutes to assure her that she was fine. She had won. They were now rich and famous. Prim relaxed and loosened her grip on her sister's waist.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

Katniss extended her toned arms to reach for her mother. She did not want to be unable to trust her anymore. Her mother had kept her promise and had not zoned out to place the weight of the world on Prim's fragile shoulders. Katniss and her mother rested in each other's embrace for several minutes. That extended length was a promise of trust in attempting to fix their relationship.

Katniss rapidly moved towards the Hawthornes. Joy covered the features of all the members of their family, from little Posy who had always considered Katniss to be a sister, to Hazelle who had always admired Katniss for mustering the courage required to enter the forest and hunt to keep one's family alive. Gale, Katniss' hunting partner and her sole friend, also stood there. He was the one that had given her hope that she might be able to win.

"You did it, Catnip. I knew you could."

Despite there being nothing romantic between them, Katniss did not hesitate to accept Gale's warm hug and for the second time she felt his body like it truly was—lithe due to the lack of food in District Twelve and muscular thanks to hours of furtive hunting.

"Thank you for believing in me. And for giving me hope before I left."

"I knew you were stronger than the rest. You're a survivor. The others weren't."

Katniss grimaced slightly at Gale's use of the past tense but it was true. Twenty-three had died for her survival. Katniss' silver eyes fluttered from one side to the other. She raised herself to the tips of her toes, peering beyond Gale's left shoulder. She was searching for a golden head and kind blue eyes, but she did not find them.

How bizarre. The boy who had confessed his love towards her was not there. Perhaps he was delicately decorating one of those elegant cookies that the Seam citizens would never be capable of affording.

The second she broke the embrace with Gale and took two steps towards the cheering and delighted crowd, several young Seam children commenced to clinging to her, laughing with sheer innocent joy and crying grateful tears.

The children were merely attempting to hold to their saviour and express their gratefulness. Katniss did not mind. Instead she played with their hair and cleaned their joyous tears from their young faces with her thumb and invited others to join them. She was happy that thanks to her survival those arms would not be so skinny. They would not go hungry to bed for an entire year and they would taste luxuries like ice creams and sugar that were usually only available for the Capitol and Districts One and Two.

Katniss decided that she would share the fortune provided to her for being a victor with the rest of District Twelve. The elation in those children's and parents' eyes was worth it. She had always wished to make District Twelve a better place and now she could. Even Haymitch seemed happy. Katniss believed that he had been touched by the view of those starving children acting jubilant because for once they would be capable of eating. Maybe she could persuade him to help her prevent so many people dying from starvation in District Twelve.

"Katniss has to go. Thank you for welcominngg…her."

Haymitch slurred, indicating that he was not particularly sober.

Prim promptly embraced District Twelve's drunkard. Haymitch was blatantly disconcerted by this abrupt display of affection. Prim's cherubic face was garbed by one of those smiles that made people love her. Then she uttered in the sweet and angelical tone everyone was accustomed to hearing her employ.

"Thank you, Haymitch, for bringing Katniss home."

"Don't mention it, kid. Katniss has too many people that need her. She couldn't die. You don't mind if I usher her home so I can congratulate her properly?"

Haymitch dragged the syllables slightly thanks to the bottle of Vodka he had already ingested. Prim shook her head to confirm that she did not mind.

Katniss was special, she was the first tribute that was a fighter and had forced him to help her survive. Despite the fact that at the start he did not like her, she had managed to worm her way into his drunken heart.

Haymitch quickly recovered and adorned his face with his trademark standoffish and sarcastic façade. He commenced to usher Katniss to her new home at an unsteady pace.

In reality he was not as intoxicated as he appeared to be. People never expected anything extraordinary from a drunkard, but they might from Katniss. To protect her as much as he possibly could he required all his brainpower.

Katniss' new and flawless home stood proud in front of both of them. Katniss' nostrils flared at the unique and exorbitantly intense scent of roses as her silver gaze rapidly settled on an evidently altered white rose in her doorstep. Such an intense scent went against nature.

Katniss realised that the only place the rose could have come from was the Capitol, the place where they loved to defy nature and time.

"Haymitch, is the rose supposed to mean anything?"

One of her dainty digits pointed in the direction of the white rose as one of her eyebrows raised in a quizzical manner.

"It's a gift from President Snow." He responded in a deadpan tone.

"Does he send one to all the victors?"

Katniss could not truly grasp why the President of Panem would send her a gift, or why that gift would be a white rose.

"No, he only sends it to the victors he likes."


End file.
